


Empire

by KeepGoing



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Homphobic slurs, M/M, Mob Bosses, Mob!mickey, Nurse!Ian, Ukrainian Mickey Milkovich, Violence, dying terry milkovich, in the closet mickey, mickey takes over the family business, mob!fic, russian mob, very out and proud ian
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24227170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeepGoing/pseuds/KeepGoing
Summary: When Terry Milkovich, the Ukrainian mob boss of Chicago, begins to slowly fade due to Dementia, his son and right hand man, Mickey, must step up to take over the family business. To make it easier on himself and his sister Mandy, they hire in an in home hospice nurse, Ian Gallagher, to take care of their father in his last days. Ian slowly becomes someone Mickey never expected; caring, smart, loving, and not just in the care of his father. He begins to make Mickey feel things he swore to himself he would never give into.As Mickey gets deeper into his new role as a King Pin, and deeper into his feelings for Ian, he must find a way to keep them a secret because when you're a Milkovich you do not fall in love with another man.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 13
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> So I watched Capone and this fic flooded my mind.
> 
> Warning: There is violence in this, graphic at times and homophobic slurs. But nothing any worse than what was actually said on the show. 
> 
> This fic should be updated every few days, a week at the most. At this time i have no idea how long its going to be. But I hope you all enjoy it! 
> 
> Comments are LOVE.

The glass shatters into tiny hundreds of pieces against the wall where you are standing and you duck and cover your face to ward off the possible piercing of skin. You protect your face, but not your arms and you feel the tiny stings as soon as the glass punctures your skin. 

“Fucking A, Pops. Jesus H Christ.” You shake your head and pull out the small shards of glass imbedded in your pale skin. “Fuck, man.” You drop the glass onto the  hard wood floor and finally raise your eyes to your father sitting in his chair, his throne, across the room. “Pops, what the fuck is the problem?”

Terry Milkovich mumbles something under his breath and slowly looks to the table next to him for his glass of whiskey. The same glass he just threw across the room for no  apparent fucking reason. You sigh heavily and walk to him as you can feel the blood slowly sliding down your arm from the  puncture wounds. You rest your hand on his  bony shoulder that used to carry so much strength it could snap  people's necks in seconds. Those days are long gone now.  That’s the old Terry. This is the new Terry. Fragile. Thin. Bloodshot eyes and a mind that used to be so sharp, so smart for business, now  can't even remember his kids own names. 

“Mick...Mick...come  er ’” He whispers to you. You bend down so you can look in his face. “Rats.  All of em . They are  gonna get  ya .  Gotta be careful.  Don’t let the snow melt, Mick. You hear me. When the snow melts,  it's all over.”

“Yeah, I got it Pops.  Don’t let the sun shine. Noted.” You sigh and leave your father alone in the den, closing the door gently as you leave. You press your forehead against it, your body feeling more tired than it ever has. 

“ It's getting worse.” You hear your sisters voice behind you, hard but still gentle in her own way. 

“Well, years of drugs and drink will do that to  ya .” You push off the door and  turn to her. “I  can't keep doing this. I got shit to do. With him like this,  there's no one out there to run things. Iggy  can't handle it all on his own.”

“We need like a nurse or something.” Mandy offers her words and you a cigarette. You light it and inhale deeply. 

“We  can't bring no outsider in here, Mands. Pops will freak.”

“Right. And you don’t trust nobody.” Mandy eyes you and you flip her off. 

“Fucking right I don’t. We  can't . Fuck Mands. Things are  gonna have to change. That least deal Pops made...it was a fucking disaster. Almost got us all killed.  Can't keep up like that.  Maybe this is a good thing,  ya know? I  can't start doing the shit I know will keep the money flowing and not have to worry about the God Damn cops on us all the time.” Your boots make rough noises on the wood as you walk away from the den and your sister follows you through the smoke of your cigarette. 

“You sure you know what  you're doing? You sure those guys are  gonna wanna work with you? All they know is Dad.” You stop  abruptly and she slams into  the back of you. 

“You think I’m some God Damn kid, here? Pops has been bringing me on runs and deals since I was fucking 10 years old. I know what the fuck  I’m doing. What the fuck have you done, eh? Spend the cash and hook up with fucking idiots thinking  it's true love or some shit and then come crawling back home after they beat the shit outa  ya . Then I  gotta go kill  em . Do you know how many fucks I  got buried ?  So, fuck you, I know what the fuck I’m doing.” You keep walking, slamming through the front door of the house and onto the porch. You look out onto the green field of land that surrounds your fortress. You take a few deep breaths, taking in what your sister has said, without letting your face give too much away . Yo u’ r e g ood at that. Always have been. 

You  were taught that at  a young age . Feel whatever the fuck you want, but keep that shit buried. Deep.  Don’t let your face give anything away.  Don’t let your mouth do the talking. Let your fists and feet do it for you.  Don’t let anyone in except family. Trust no one. Especially family. It was a  fucked-up way grow up, even with all the crime you  were surrounded by. You feel your  sisters' hand on your back and you jump in your skin. 

“ Let's get your arm cleaned up.” She whispers. 

“ It's fine.” You can hear your father screaming and carrying on from inside the house. “Make some calls. Find someone to take care of Pops. I  can't ...”

“Okay, okay.” Mandy says, rubbing the back of your neck. She really is the only one you trust, and  that’s not saying much. “I’ll find someone.”

*****

There is blood on your boots and on your knuckles; a mixture of yours and the prick tied to the chair. Two of your men stand behind him; one being your brother; holding his shoulders back as the prick tries to slump forward. 

“I’m not sure you heard me.  Pretty sure I’m speaking fucking  English , but since you don’t seem to be  understandin what I’m saying maybe I need to speak in a different language.” Another punch hits the guy across the cheek; a low  throb igniting through your hand. “Where the fuck is the money?”

The prick  gurgles from all the blood in his mouth and spits it on the ground at your feet. “Fuck you, Milkovich.”

You thumb your lower lip, tasting metal from your fingers. “Fuck me, huh? Fuck my family? Okay, I’ve been nice enough.” You grab the prick by his hair and yank his head back. “When they find your body, your father is  gonna know who did it. I  ain’t hiding, bitch. You hear me? And when your father comes for  me, I’m gutting him too until I get the money your family stole. You think I give a shit about politics and keeping the peace? I  don’t . I care about the fucking money.” You let go of him and nod at Iggy. “Gut him. Leave on his  father's fucking doorstep.”

You wipe your hands on your t-shirt as the sounds of screams and knives slicing through skin carry you out of the warehouse. 

*******

There’s a silver Camry in your driveway when you make it back home and you yell your sisters name, echoing through the large estate. 

“In here, Mick!” You hear her voice coming from the den where your father spends most of his time these days. You push open the door with your bloodied boot and 2 heads turn to you. 2 sets of eyes wide at the blood soaked onto your clothes. 

“Fuck, Mickey!” Mandy is pushing you out of the room in seconds as your eyes lock with green ones over her shoulder. The door closes behind her and she sighs heavily. “What the fuck, Mick?

“Who the fuck is that?” You demand. 

“The nurse I hired for Dad. Which will probably run straight out of here now with how you fucking look.” She rubs her hand over her face. “Christ.”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know we’d be having visitors. Tell  em I was gutting a deer or  somethin .” You look at the door again. “How’d you find him?”

“Service.  He’s a home nurse. Specializes in mental shit.” She waves her hand around her head. 

“Dad’s not crazy.” You argue. You still stare at the door. You  aren't sure why you are so eager to get back in there.  Maybe  it's because they are a stranger.  Maybe  it's because someone else is looking and touching your Pops when you and Mandy have been the only one taking care of him since all this started.  Maybe  it's because you just saw the  greenest eyes  you’ve ever  encountered in nature and you barely got a look at the rest of the guy, but fuck if you  don’t want to see the rest of what those eyes  are attached to. 

“No, not  technically . But  he's definitely not all there. Ian said  maybe  Alzheimer's . Early on set.”

“Ian?”

“Yeah, Ian. That’s the nurses name.”

Ian. Hm.

“Okay, well  let's meet him.” You try to push past your sister but she grabs your arm and spins you around. 

“Oh no you don’t.  Go get cleaned up.  I’ll try and make up some reason as to why your covered in blood. Jesus.” She pushes you down the hallway and slides back into the room and closes the door in your face when you try and protest. Bossy bitch. 

You shower;  maybe a little longer than you usually do for reasons you  aren't ready to admit to yourself just yet. You put on a  long-sleeved maroon shirt and loose dark jeans. You may even style your hair for when  you’re doing a job, instead of just letting it set like your normally do when  you’re just sitting around the house. 

You open the door to the den a half hour later and Mandy and  _ Ian  _ are sitting in front of Terry talking slowly and quietly to him. Green eyes look up into yours again and you finally get a good look at this guy. His hair is a soft color of red and orange; a perfect contrast with the green of his eyes. Pale skin and a scatter of freckles on his cheeks make you wonder for a moment if there are more freckles to  be found under his dark blue scrubs. He stands when you enter the room and  fuck, he's tall. Way taller than you, not like  that’s saying much. And then he smiles. Jesus fucking  Christ . 

“Mickey, right?  I’m Ian. Gallagher. I’m the  in-home nurse your sister hired to take care of your father.” He sticks his hand out respectively and you  reciprocate . His hand is soft and it angers you that you notice. 

“Yeah,” is all you mumble. You look down at your father and pat his shoulder. “You doing okay today, Pop?” Your father just grunts in response. 

“Why don’t we all talk outside about the thoughts I have for the care of your father?” Ian motions toward the door and a flood of apprehension courses through you.  He’s not in charge. You are. Who the fuck does this guy think he is?

“Okay, tough guy. Why  don’t you slow down a minute. Mandy here may have hired you, but I get the final say of who I let into my house. Or who the fuck is going to be taking care of our Pops.” Mandy rolls her eyes and sighs heavily. 

“Mick...”

“No,  it's okay. This is a delicate matter. This is your father. I totally understand.  I’m sorry if I overstepped. But I assure you I only have the best intentions here. I want to give your father the care he deserves.”  You're gonna give this ginger something he deserves .... where the fuck did that come from?

“Okay, Red. Calm down.  Let's talk.” You leave the room hoping neither Ian or Mandy can hear the weird thing your voice just did. 

You all make your way into the kitchen and Ian sets down the folder of paperwork he had been holding onto the counter. “I  took a look at your fathers medical records and did some of my own  assessment while you  were... ” Ian eyes you.” “Hunting.” You  snort . “And as far as I can tell not only is your father in late stage liver failure he is also suffering from Dementia. Its why  he's having those outbursts and saying things that you probably don’t understand.”

“No shit, genius. I got that much. What do we do to stop it?” You cross your arms over your chest. Ian gives you a warm smile but sad eyes. 

“There is no stopping it, Mickey. Your father  isn't going to get a new liver before it finally completely fails on him. And even if by some miracle he did, the dementia is only going to get worse. There is no cure for that.”

“Fuck that, man.” You grasp the edge of the counter in front of you. “ That's bullshit.”

“All we can do now is what we call hospice care. Keep him as comfortable as possible until the day comes.” Ian explains gently. 

“Till he fucking dies.” You state. Ian nods. There are tears in Mandy’s eyes. You  can't look at her. 

“And you’d be the one doing this  so-called care?” 

Ian nods. “Normally during hospice care I stay at the  patient's home so I can be there all hours of the day or night for their needs. To take the pressure and duty off the family members. I would discuss all care, medications, food,  etc. with you before I did anything and we would work together to make sure even though your father is in his last days, we make his life as normal as possible.” 

“You’d stay here? In this house? All the time?” You eye Mandy. That was not something you two talked about. 

“We have the room, Mick.” Mandy reminds him with sad eyes. 

“Yeah...I know...” Fuck. A stranger in your house? With everything this family is about? What if  he’s with the  cops ? What if  he’s a rat?  He’s gotta be careful in his own house now? Talking on the phone?  Can't come home with blood on his shirt? But  it's for Pops. And you will just have to extra careful. You can do that. Right?

"Fine. Fine.” You  grumble . You push off the counter. “Just  don’t get in my fucking way, okay? He’s still my Pops and I say what happens to him.” Ian raises his hands in surrender, but  there’s a small  smirk on his lips. This fucking guy.

Mandy smiles at you but you ignore her charms and head down back to the den. You close the door behind you and sit in the chair opposite your father.  He’s staring out into the garden through the double glass doors which are open letting in the warm spring air. 

“Pops?” 

Terry Milkovich  doesn’t move.  Doesn’t look at you. 

“Come on, Pops. Give me something. This  can't be it. What am I supposed to do huh? How am I supposed to just take over? All your shit is in your head. I got no bank records, no shit to follow. All I know is what you taught me. I  don’t know where half the shit is that  I’m supposed to be working with. You  gotta help me here.” You touch your  fathers' knee and his eyes finally  flicker down to where your hand is resting. He looks up at you slowly. He squints and grunts. 

“Pops, come on. Drop the act.”

Terry narrows his eyes at you. “Rats.” He gurgles.

“Yeah, Pops. I know everyone is a rat. I got it. Any other words of wisdom?”

“Y-you .... you’re t-the r-r-rat.”

You pull your hand back like the skin on your  fathers' knee suddenly catches fire. “Pops,  it's me. Mickey. You’re son.”

“I DON’T KNOW YOU. GET AWAY FROM ME. YOU RAT. FUCK YOU. I’LL NEVER TELL YOU ANYTHING!!!” Terry is screaming and flailing and you stumble back knocking the chair over. 

Mandy and Ian come rushing into the room and Ian is next to Terry in seconds, calming him and taking a needle out of his pocket. 

“What the fuck!?” You scream at the redhead. 

“ It's just a sedative. Sometimes dementia patients need it.  It's just to calm him. Okay? We okay, Mickey?” Ian’s eyes are soft and warm and you  don’t want to; it goes against everything  you’ve been taught your entire life; but you trust him. You nod your head. 

Ian injects the sedative into your father and he  almost instantly calms, his insane eyes slowly sliding shut. 

“Fuck.” Mandy mutters. She covers her face in her hands, but all you can do is stare into Ian’s eyes. Ian gives you the most comforting look and your whole body ignites.  It's like electricity straight through your veins.  It's wrong. And exciting. And you swear there is something else in Ian’s look that you  can't quite put your finger on. But there  isn't time for that right now. You  don’t have time for anything right now. You have an empire to take over. A legacy to fulfill. There  isn't ’ time to get your dick wet by the nurse caring for your dying father. 

********

You shuffle down into the kitchen and the time on the oven  taunts you. 2:27AM. You sigh heavily and grab a beer from the  stainless-steel fridge. You lean against the counter, the cold liquid swirling in your mouth as you scrape at the label on the bottle. You  don’t even notice when he enters. 

“Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were awake.” Ian places a food tray on the counter. “ Your father woke up so I got him some food. He was still asleep during dinner time.”

You nod. “Thanks man.”

“No problem.” Ian starts to wash dishes and before you can even stop yourself  you grab his wrist. 

“You don’t  gotta do that. We got a maid.”

“Right.” Ian chuckles softly. “Guess I’m not used to being in houses like this.” He  dry's his hands on the dish towel and folds it neatly over the sink. 

“Houses like what?” You pull a cigarette out of the pocket of your sweatpants and light it. Ian makes a gesture around the house. “Spit it out, Red.” Ian sighs heavily.

“I almost didn’t take this job.  I’ve heard shit. I know who your family is.”

You nod and step closer to him. The only light in the kitchen coming from the end of your cigarette and the moonlight through the kitchen window. “Then why you here then, huh?”

Ian turns his head and looks at you. Its intense. Soft but...narrowing. “Because I like to make my own judgements on things. Opinions. And all I see is a dying man in there and his two kids doing everything they can to take care of him and love him.”

“ Mmm .” You take a long drag. “ That's what  ya see, huh?”

“Yeah, Mick.  It's what I see.”  He’s so close to you that you can smell the soap he used this morning in the shower. And the mint gum in his mouth. 

“You okay in the guest room? Enough pillows and shit?” You toss your cigarette in the sink and his eyes follow it and watch it burn out as it hits the  droplets of water at the bottom. 

“And shit.” He whispers softly. He looks back up at you. “You got a girlfriend?”

A loud laugh escapes your throat. “Fuck, right to the chase huh? No Red, no girlfriend. Too busy defending my empire.” You pause, eyeing him. “I got anything to worry about with you?”

“You mean am I a snitch?”

You shrug. 

Ian smile. “ Nah., I don’t give a shit about what your family does. I was born and raised Southside.  I’ve seen some shit.  I’ve been through some of that shit. So no, Mick. You don’t have anything to worry about.” He leans closer to you and if you had any sense at all  you’d lean back. But you  don’t . “Boyfriend?”

You thumb at your bottom lip. “What I just say?”

“Right, no time. Got it.” 

“I  ain’t no fag.” You spit out and he just smiles at you. Its blinding even in the darkness. 

“Never said you were. There’s  a big difference between being a fag and liking cock, Mick.” His words sent shivers down to the base of your spine. You should knock his teeth in. Any other mother fucker would already be dead for talking to you like this. You should kill him. 

But you  can't move.  He’s so close to you and your cemented to your spot. 

“ Didn't say I did.” You lick your lips involuntarily. He smiles and you want to break his fucking face. Or slam your dick into it. Either way. 

“Okay.” Ian steps back. “Just making conversation.” He rounds the corner of the counter. “I should get a few hours of sleep before your father needs me again. Let me know if there is anything you need.”

“I don’t need anything.” You call out to him. He  doesn’t turn around. 

“You know where I am, if you do.”

He’s gone, his words still lingering in the air and down the rest of your beer, suddenly feeling  very hot and thirsty. 

Fuck.

**********

“Mikhailo.” 

Sergei Petrov stands as you enter the back of the  restaurant . He kisses you on your cheek as you shake his hand.  He’s surrounded by his goons and your gun feels heavy on your hip. 

“Sergei. Nice to see you, sir.”

“Cut the shit with that Sir, Mikhailo. Sit. Drink.” He pushes a shot towards you as you pull the chair out to sit in front of the king pin. You slam the shot down your throat and Sergei laughs in delight. “Just like your father. My boy!”

You laugh and wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. Sergei leans forward. “Your father. How is he doing?”

“Eh, he’s hanging in. All fucked up in the head. Figured I needed to sit down with you before shit went south. Make sure you knew where my head and loyalty  were at.” You lean forward on the table. 

“That’s what I like about your Milkovich’s. Loyalty.” You nod. 

“I want to pick up where my father left off. I can run the deals and the money and everything else just like he did.  I’ve been his right hand since I was 12. I know I can make you proud. Make my father proud.”

“Mikhailo. You already make me proud. What you have done for us, the footsteps you have been following since you were a boy. The loyalty you have shown me. This organization. Of course, you have my own loyalty. You need anything. Money, advice, any type of help, we are here for you. You are young but have so much promise. Keep your eyes up and your head down and you will be  just fine . Just like your father.” Sergei pats your hand and you put your other hand on top of his. 

“Alright enough of the  faggy shit, lets drink!” You yell and the  restaurant erupts in cheers. 

“I got just the thing for this occasion.” Sergei snaps his fingers and a tall skinny redhead comes from across the room to his side. “Svet, my dear. Take my boy Mikhailo into the backroom and show him how we treat our family.”

She smiles down at you and extends her hand. You take  it, because you  have to . Because  it’s what you do.  It’s a gift from the man himself and no matter what you feel, what you know about yourself, you do not refuse a gift. 

*********

You stumble through the front door of the estate, shushing the door and yourself for being too loud. You have no idea what time it is and honestly it  doesn’t even matter at this point. You spent all day and night at Sergei’s  restaurant drinking, and getting your dick sucked by some Russian redhead pretending it was some other redhead. In the family  you're in, Milkovich and the mob, you  aren't gay. You like pussy. You marry pussy. You have mistresses with  pussies . There is no dick. No cock. No butt fucking unless there is a pussy on the other side. 

You’re sure there are some that are gay. Who like to take the occasionally cock up the ass, but  it's not talked  about. And if anyone found out  you’d be as dead as the other fuckers  you’ve killed for snitching or stealing from the family. No, no cock. Not ever. 

But fuck do you want it. Well  one in particular . A cock attached to a tall freckled red head who now lives in your fucking house taking care of your dying father. You laugh loudly as you think of it and then instantly  shush yourself.

“Mickey?” His voice travels from up the stairs and you  squint up at him. 

“Oh, hey Red!  How's it  hangin ?” You giggle,  actually giggle at your own inuendo. 

He steps gently down the stairs until  he’s right in front of you.  He’s still one step up from the bottom and your looking up at him as you lean against the  banister of the staircase. “You are one tall mother fucker.”

Ian smirks. “Maybe you’re just one short mother fucker.”

“Fuck off, bitch.” You try to step onto the stairs but stumble and his long fingers wrap around your bicep. 

“Whoa, there. You good? Out partying too much, boss?”

“ Mmm .” You smile. “I am the boss now. Pops has lost his damn mind and good old  Mikhalio steps up to the plate to take over.”

“Mikhalio, huh?”

“Fuck  yeah ! I like my name. Sorry  it's not as common as  _ Ian.”  _ You  snicker and try again for the  stair . You lose.

“Come on then boss,  let's get you up to bed.” Ian grabs you under your arm and tugs you up the stairs. You  wobble and stumble but damn if this kid is not strong as he guides you up and onto the landing. 

“You’re supposed to be taking care of Pops. Not me.” You slur. Fuck  you're dizzy.

“Two for one deal tonight.” Ian says gently against your ear. You shiver. There is no way he  didn’t notice that. “Which one?” Ian asks as the doors line the hallway. You point to the large double doors down the hall. “Mmm. Should have known. Suite for the king.”

“Damn straight, Red.”

“Ian. You can call me Ian, you know.” He pushes open your bedroom door and flicks the light on from the wall. He gasps when he sees the size of the room. You grin. A huge king bed sits in the center with black and gray bedding. The  four-post headboard surrounds it on all sides and there are large  French doors leading out to the balcony. There is a master bath on the side with a jacuzzi tub and a shower that could fit 5 people in it. A  walk-in closet with enough clothes for every Kardashian but you know you  that’s not for clothes.  Yeah , there are some in there, but  it's mostly guns. And money. 

“Like what you see, Red?” You slur and trip into your bedroom. He lets go of your arm and you can feel his eyes burning into the back of you.

“Yeah, Mick. I do.”

You turn and glare at him with drunk eyes. “No, no, no. No  faggy shit. I told you.” You wave your finger at him and nearly miss the bed when you sit hard on top of it. “I don’t give a shit if you are, hey to each their own but...” You try to  unlace your boot but it wins the battle and you end up flopping down on top of your  duvet staring at the spinning ceiling above you. 

“But you’re not a fag.  Yeah , you said.” You feel Ian’s hands as they wrap around your ankle to  unlace your boots and slide them off your aching feet. He lifts your legs at the  calves and slides you so you are now lying the right way on your bed. 

“Hey!” You grab his wrist as he goes to move away from the bed. “You got a girlfriend?”

Ian smiles down at you softly. “No, Mick. No girlfriend.”

“ So, you are a fag! I knew it!” You pump your fists in the air in victory. 

“No, I’m not a fag.  I’m gay. There’s a difference.”

“ Pffft . Is there though?” You smack your lips together. Fuck your thirsty. You hear shuffling and when you focus your eyes again, Ian is leaning over you on the bed. His hands on either side of your body, feet still on the floor. Fuck this guy is tall. 

“Yes. I like cock. I like to suck it and jerk it and touch it. I like ass. I like to fuck it and work my fingers inside it until the body under me is writhing in pleasure. I like to make men scream as I tear them apart from the inside out.  It's just the same as fucking a woman. I could do it to woman too, but I prefer to do it to men. So  yeah , Mick.  There's a difference. What your implying to is a weak girly man. That I am not.”

You moan. You  actually moan at his words and he smirks down at you. “I don’t think you’re a fag either, Mick. I think your lonely. I think your trying  really hard to be strong and be something for everyone else around you. And  that’s good.  That’s ok. I’ll wait.”

“You don’t know me, Red.  I’m a bad person. You should just get out while your ahead. You being here already puts you in danger.” You  shouldn't be saying this shit.  You’re telling him too much. He already knew too much coming into this.  It's going to get him killed. 

“I’m not scared of you.” He leans closer. “Well, maybe I am but not for the reasons you think.”

“Good. You should  be scared of me.” You swallow hard and start to count the freckles on his face. You get to 9 before he speaks again. 

“I’m afraid of how you make me feel.” Ian whispers. 

You blink. You could kiss him  he’s so close. Fuck you want to.  You’ve never kissed a guy before but fuck if you want to right now. 

“H-How do I make you feel?” You practically moan out. He licks his bottom lip and you feel his fingertips rub against your arm. Its slow and barely a whisper of a touch but it sends your entire body into overload. 

“Good. Real good.”

“I  haven't even done anything.” You whisper. 

“You don’t even know what you do. The way you walk. The way you hold yourself. Your voice. Your mouth. That  smirk . Its good.  It's all good.”

“Your face is good.” You blurt out and  immediately groan after you say it. Jesus Christ, get a grip.  You’re the ring leader in one of the biggest crime families in Chicago. And here you are, sprawled on your bed, drunk, with a hot red head hovering above you feeding you compliments. If he  was a girl, this  wouldn’t be  a problem . But  he's not a girl.  He’s a man, and this just  can't happen. 

Ian just chuckles and breathes against the side of your face before he leans back up. He stands looking down at you. “Yours too. Get some sleep.”

He’s gone before you can even let out the breath you  didn’t even know you were holding. 

This is not good. 

Not good at all. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Mickey and Ian grow closer, new information comes to light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading...things are starting to get real!

You feel like  you’ve been in a bar fight. 

Your body is  achy which is odd because you didn’t get into a bar fight and you’ve been in plenty of bar fights so the dull ache in your bones is not a foreign feeling, but you know for a fact there was no beating of any kind last night so why do you feel like even your skin hurts?

You blink and open your eyes and sigh happily at the fact that the curtains of your balcony  are drawn shut making it hard to  decipher what exactly the time is. You  reach clumsily to the bedside table for your phone but hit a bottle of something instead and you  squint your tired and fuck even your eyes hurt, to the table. 

You hit a bottle of water, that now you can see now that your vision is slowly improving. You can also see a bottle of  Advil next to the bottle of water and a tiny note sitting up against it. All it says in perfect handwriting is “Take these.”

And fuck you smile. You  flop back down onto his  goose down pillow and slide your eyes shut again. You remember last night vaguely. Not the drinking and partying.  That’s nothing new. But Ian in your bedroom, taking your boots off and saying things to you no other man has ever said to you before. It causes a warm flood to wash over your body and your stomach ends up in your throat as the warm feeling passes quickly and the panic sets in. 

No. This  can't happen. Ian is the help.  He’s just here to take care of your father.  Frankly he  shouldn’t be here at all. Strangers are  a bad thing in your line of work; you  don’t trust strangers when you can barely trust the people you have had around you for 27 years. If your father had any sense left in  him, he would be screaming it, and he is, but just because not only does he not know Ian, he  doesn’t even know your or Mandy anymore.

Fuck. This is bad. Ian was in your room. He  probably saw the guns in your closet. Did he snoop through your shit? Did he find the money? Fuck you need to know. Tie him to a chair if you  have to . That might be fun...no. No, stranger danger. They teach you that shit as a kid and  you’re still a firm believer in it.  So, answers are going to  be given . You  don’t care how you get them.

You sit up and groan. Fuck your head. Too much scotch. Way too much scotch. You swing your legs over the side of your bed and find yourself still clothed. Well at least Ian has manners. You growl as you wash down 4  Advil , not because Ian told you to but because you need them.  That’s right.  You’re the boss. You make the rules. You  don’t take orders from some  man nurse in blue scrubs...fuck he looks good in those scrubs...no answers. Right. 

He finds Ian in the kitchen, putting soup in a bowl. He smiles when you enter; all bright and shiny and fuck. No.  He’s not  gonna get you with that smile. No matter how...no. Just no.

“Ay, look we  gotta talk.” Your voice is stern. Good. 

He smirks and puts the pot of soup back on the stove. “About last night?”

Okay you  weren't expecting that. “Yeah. Look, no one goes in my room. I got shit in there...what did you see?”

Ian sighs a little and gets this look across his face like  he’s thinking. This smug fuck. You should crack him right across his  chiseled jaw. “I saw a bed. Some furniture.  Oh, and your ankles when I took your boots off. It did go a bit too far. That’s way too much skin for the first time hanging out with someone.”

You  gape at him. He...what...what the fuck?

“Funny guy, ay?  I’m fucking serious here, Red. You stick to your room, the kitchen and my Pop’s room. You got it?”

He  purses his lips together and joins you on your side of the counter. He leans against it, crossing his arms. He looks at you, eyes warm but with a hint of  curiosity to them. “Mick, I don’t give two shits what the fuck you have in your room. I don’t care if there are dead bodies in your closet or if you got hookers hanging from the ceiling.”

You rub your thumb against your bottom lip. “How do I know you  ain’t  a rat, huh? Just trying to get into this house so you can find shit? Steal? Get information? Cause I could kill you right fucking now and not care. Because I have. I’ve fucking killed people.”

He nods. “I don’t doubt that. I don’t care.”

“Oh, you don’t care? Is that so? What you get off on killers? Got  some kind of fetish ? You one of those fuckers who writes letters to death row inmates who ate their victims?”

And then Ian laughs. And its joyous and happy and  it's not something that happens very often in this house. He shakes his head and chuckles again. “Nah. If I got any type of fetish  it's for dark haired, blue eyed, thugs.” He reaches across the counter for the tray of food and gently brushes past you, his elbow catching yours as he passes. 

What. The. Fuck. Just. Happened?

*******

“We have a problem.” 

Sergei sighs as he folds his hands on the table in front of you. Your head is still pounding. That fucking Advil  didn't help. Fucking Ian. 

“And  what's that?” You take your shot of whiskey anyway.  Maybe that will help. You know it  won't . 

“You leave Tony Marzullo’s son gutted to death on his front porch?”

You shrug. “ So, what if I did. The scumbag stole 50K from us, Sergei. That prick of a son of his spit at me. Told me to fuck off. To me. A Milkovich. Had to be taught a lesson.”

Sergei eyes you. “Perhaps. But you started a war. There is always going to be beef with those damn  Ginny's and us,  Mikhalio . But this? You think  it's what your father would have done?”

“No.” You sit back and cross your arms. “I think he would have put that prick in Tony’s fucking bed.”

Sergei sighs and shakes his head. “ Mikhalio , I love you like my own son. I trust you. But with Terry not being around, other  families are  gonna be looking at us even harder. Looking to see if we slip up. How they can take us down. See if we are weak. Your father doing something like that is one thing, but you...just coming into your own, taking over the business. That was  a big risk .”

“With all due respect, Boss, that’s exactly why I needed to do that. If I had gone easy on Tony’s kid, they would have thought I was soft. That the Milkovich family had gone soft without my Pops. They need to know we are still the same as we always were. We  don’t take shit. We don’t go easy on people  thieving after what is rightfully ours.” 

You watch Sergei consider this. “Maybe you are right. But there will be a fallout from this. People to answer to. Tony’s boss. Other bosses. You’ve started a war.”

You keep your composure.  It's what your good at.  Don’t show fear. Pop’s taught you that. You  don’t back down. Stand by your decisions. You keep eye contact with your boss. And you wait. You wait for the consequence.

“My boy, you are a fire starter. A storm. A fucking hurricane sometimes. You ready for this? You ready to take over the empire your father created?” Sergei looks...concerned.  Don’t show him you are too.

“Boss, I was born ready.”

“ Mmm .” He nods and pours you another shot. “Yeah, I guess you were.” He puts the bottle of whiskey back down on the table and takes a deep, thoughtful breath. “Let the war begin.”

You pick up your shot and salute the other man in your life that molded you into the criminal you are. “Vonya.”

*******

You need to plan your next move still while being on high alert. You  can't have any distractions. You know Tony Marzullo and his Ginny crew are going to be coming for you.  So, you up the security on your  fortress and keep Mandy on lockdown. You have her tell Ian he is not to leave the house under any circumstances. You know they are watching the house, watching you. Watching anyone that comes and goes. They know your  maid ; they know your chefs and gardeners. They  don’t care about them. They are the help. And technically Ian is too, but  he's new. A stranger and someone they could consider weak and able to get information or leverage with. 

To be honest you could give two shits less if they did anything to the other help, but Ian...no. You  don’t want to care what happens to him but you do.  He’s doing a  bang-up job with your Pops. Keeps him calm, even if most of the time  it's with sedatives, but makes sure he gets his dialysis. Makes sure he eats and gets fresh air. Your Pops still barely talks and when he does its mostly nonsense. But you still sit with him  every day , just so he knows your there. You tell him things. How the jobs are going, what your plans are. He shows no sign of  acknowledgment . He just stares out into the garden, eyes flitting around as the birds fly from tree to tree. 

It's the nicest conversations you and he have ever had.

Growing up with Terry Milkovich as a father  wasn’t easy. You  wouldn’t know now by looking at him but  he's not a gentle man. You had taken many a beating as a kid and even as an adult. Terry had anger burning through his body and it exploded on anybody or anything that got in his path. Mostly on you. And his victims. He taught you everything you know about pain and violence and  self-hatred . You had been  following in his footsteps since birth; Iggy never really having the drive or head or the business. No, Pops molded you in the womb for this. And you know nothing else but this. 

You have no choice but to keep going. You have no choice to put your own happiness and needs on the back burner. You know eventually you will have to take a wife. Maybe even spit out a kid or two. At 27, your cutting it close; sometimes getting a rash of shit about why you  haven't settled down yet. But you can keep up the single life for a while longer with everything going on with your Pops. You can get the blowjobs in the back of the  restaurants and talk a big game about the bitch you rammed the night before. They  don’t need to know anything other than that. But the day will come when you will have to lie for the rest of your life about loving a woman, who knows who it might be, that will  probably make your skin crawl when you touch her skin.

The only person that knows your gay is Mandy. She  kinda figured it out in her own weird twin thing they had going on, but she never mentions it. Never once pressured you or made you feel like you were wrong or dirty for the feelings you had inside you. You did that all on your own. And she never told Pops or Iggy.  It's like this unspoken secret between you and you know she will take it to your grave.

What she  doesn’t know is that  you’ve never even kissed anyone.  You’ve had sex with  numerous women since  you were 14 years old. Pops gave you your first hooker on your 14 th birthday. You had no idea what you were doing or how you were supposed to feel. But you got hard because fuck you were a  14-year-old boy with a woman  probably twice your age touching your dick. A breeze would have gotten your dick hard. So  yeah ,  you’ve had plenty of sex. 

But you never kissed any of them.

And  you’ve never gotten what you really craved sexually. 

Strong hands wrapped around you.  Callused fingers on your skin. A cock pressed up against your ass.  You've watched porn.  You’ve experimented on your own. You know what you like. Or what you would like, but will never have. What you  can't have. Because you  can't be a Boss and a fag. Those two things just  don’t go together. 

So, you’ve been working round the clock on making sure you  were protected and everyone around you were as you planned your next move. Tony was circling, looking to get retribution for his son. But you have your own revenge to take. For the  money his family stole from yours. For putting shame on your  family's name. For trying to make the Milkovich’s look like nothing but petty  thugs . Not on your watch. Not with you in charge. Pops had fucked up with them. Got greedy. Got clumsy with his mistakes. And  you're stuck cleaning up his mess while trying to make your own rules.

You’re exhausted.

Ian finds you in the garden after Pops had gone in for his nap and sits gingerly, no pun intended, next to you.  You’re quite while you chain smoke. You listen to the birds, so free and uncaring as they  flutter about.  You’re jealous almost .

“ So, what’s with the lockdown? Someone trying to kill you?” Ian finally asks after what seems like forever. You were  getting used to the quiet company.

“Someone is always trying to kill me, man.”

He hums and leans down to pick a clover up from the grass. He twirls it in his long fingers. 

“Sorry.” You mumble. He shrugs.

“You seem pretty easy going about all this. Makes me not trust you.”

“Would you rather have me screaming and carrying on? What does it matter?  I’m here to do a job. Take care of your father. When  that’s done, I’ll move onto the next job.”

You bite your lower lip. “I don’t know how you do it man. Watch people die like that.” 

Ian turns his head to look at you. “You do it all the time.”

You visibly wince. “Yeah, guess  you're right.”

“We both get paid to do a job. Sometimes  I’m the one killing them. Putting them out of their misery. I use medications. You use your fists and weapons. There really is no  difference . Its death no matter how you spin it.”

He might  be wired . He might be saying all this to get you to admit something. But there is something deep inside you  that’s screaming  he’s not a rat. There is something just on the surface between the two of you that makes you almost trust him.

“ So, when Pops  crokes you just...leave?”

He nods not taking his eyes off you. “No reason to stay after that. Right?”

You finally look at him and you take a while to just take in his face. Those freckles, those green eyes shimmering in the late afternoon sun. Pink lips. The fiery hair.  It's wrong for you think but  he’s the most beautiful thing  you’ve ever seen. 

“Right.” You whisper. 

You’ve never wanted to kiss someone in your whole life. You want to wrap yourself around this man and let him take control of you. Let him have all the say so you  don’t have to think anymore. You just want...him. But you  can't have him. You  can't have anyone like that. 

A look you recognize  faintly as  disappointment morphs onto his beautiful face. You regret your words instantly. 

“I should check on your father.” He says quietly and stands from his chair. You grab his wrist,  perhaps a little too rough. He looks down at you and you swallow down a thousand things you want to say to him. But wont.

“Thanks.” Is what  comes out instead. 

And then he is gone.

******

The next time you go to meet with Sergei,  it's in your own home. He insists that he wants to see Pops and you agree because they have been friends all your life and he deserves the right to say goodbye to his friend.  It’s a sign of respect. And who are you to say no to that?

You give Sergei his time alone with your father. You watch them from the back balcony as he sits with Pops in the garden, Sergei rambling on; saying what you  can't quite hear; and Terry just stares and drools like he does most days. Ian is keeping his distance; always on standby but he knows someone dangerous is here; someone he needs to wary of. You still  aren't sure why Ian  isn't scared of you, but he has every right to  be scared of Sergei. 

You feel his hand touch your shoulder and you jump. He holds his hands up as you glare at him. “Sorry.” He murmurs. You just growl at him.

“You’re on edge with him here.” 

You light a cigarette, ignoring him.

“You trust him?”

“No,” You  scoff . 

“You  don't trust anyone.”

“Nope. Keeps me alive.”

“Bet that gets lonely.”

“I got Mandy. I’m good.”

Ian hums next to you. “I’m here if you ever need anything. I told you that.”

“I  can't trust you either.”

“I know.”

“Then what the fuck are you talking about then if you know?” You try and sound angry, but it just comes out sounding pathetic. Weak.  That’s what Ian makes you. Weak. And it needs to stop. 

“Maybe you just need to hear it.”

“What I need is for you to do your fucking job. What I need is for you to keep my Pops alive a little longer while I figure out my next move. What I need is for you stop trying to do this  sappy faggy shit with me.”

There is no reaction from him except his footsteps as he walks away.

Well, that  outta do it. 

*******

Sergei closes the den behind him and takes his fedora off and places it against his heart. “ Mikhailo my boy.” He presses a kiss to your cheek. “Sad times.”

You nod.

“I hate to bring business in on a day like this, but time is the essence here. We need to strike. We need to dispose of Tony before anything else happens.”

“What are you talking about? Has he done  somethin ’ that nobody told me?” You demand.

“Not physically. But  there’s a lot of talk. A lot of disrespect and people in his crew thinking they can throw their weight around. Trying to get in on deals we have had our hands in for decades. Thinking they can push us out. It ends now.  It's time for him to be taken out.” Sergei touches your shoulder. Take out a boss? No that’s...that  isn't done. Yes,  there's a war but between soldiers. You  don’t touch a boss. Not without meeting with everyone else.

“Do we call a meeting? Get the Irish together and...”

“No, no. I took care of that already.  Don’t worry. This decision  is backed . I promise you. Just...get it done. 48 hours. I  don’t care how  it's done. But we need to make a statement. You need to make the statement. If you are truly going to be taking over, right under me, this needs to  be done . And fast. We  can't let anyone else thinking we are in a weak state. You were right Mickey.  You’re always right. Just like your father.” Sergei squeezes your shoulder. “Contact me when it is done.”

He leaves you standing outside your  fathers' den, heart racing and sick to your stomach. This  doesn’t feel right. This...but who are you to question him? This is what you do.  It's what your father did. You need to prove yourself. You  aren't some pussy.  You’re a Milkovich.

******

There is a soft knock on your bedroom door. You glance at the clock on the table. 12:33AM.  Probably fucking Mandy.

“ It's open.”

The door creaks open and you see the  red hair before anything else. Just fucking great.

“What the fuck you want, Red?”

“I...” He looks nervous. Scared. Good. Finally.

“Spit it out, Red. I got shit I gotta take care of.”

“I know. That’s what I want to talk to you about.” He leans against the open door.

“The fuck you talking about?”

He motions asking with his hand if he can step inside. You nod. 

He closes the door quietly behind him and walks to you on your bed. He sits so gently. It makes your skin hum.

“I. .. I know I am overstepping. I know I might be in danger of actually getting killed here by saying this...”

“I  aint got all night, Red. If you  don't hurry the fuck up, I might actually kill you.”

He sighs and rubs his hand over his face. “I was bringing your father is medication and I don’t think your boss knew I was in the garden.”

“Sergei.”

“Yeah,” He breathes out. “I heard him talking to your father. About you. About how your father molded you into this fine man.” 

Okay. Whatever. What the fuck is Ian getting at?

“ That's when he said it’s a shame that you had to be... dealt with. But how he just  can't kill you himself with no reason.  So, he’d make sure you did it to yourself.”

“The fuck  are you talking about man?”

Ian looks at you, he looks like  he's about to fucking cry. “Mick, what does he want you to do? He told your father  he’s gonna have you bury yourself. What the fuck does that mean?”

You raise your eyebrow and suddenly it all clicks.

Sergei wants you to kill Tony. To kill another boss. 

Because if you do that, then they will have no choice but to kill you.

Sergei  doesn’t want you to take over. He wants you gone. Just like Pops will be gone soon.

No. .. you ...he promised you. Told you....

“FUCK!” You scream and move from the bed violently. “Fuck, fuck  fuck .”

“Mickey, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no its fine. Fuck, are you fucking sure he  didn’t see you? Ian are you sure because if he knows you heard  him, if he knows  anything, he will fucking kill you. He will gut you and make me watch.” You  scramble across the bed and kneel in front of him and grab his shoulders. There are tears in his eyes now. Fuck.

“No, he didn’t see me. I made sure he  didn’t see me . i waited until he was gone. Your father was late getting his meds. He got sick. Threw up all over himself. I’m sorry-” Ian’s voice is  wavering with guilt.

“No, no.  Don't ever apologize for keeping yourself safe. You need to do that. You need to keep yourself safe. You hear me? You  gotta get out of here. You  gotta leave, go back to wherever it is you came from.  It's not safe for you to be here anymore. It never was. I was so stupid for even  lettin you be here. Fuck.”

“No, I’m not leaving, Mick. I made a promise that  I’d take care of your father till the end. That I...” He swallows looking at you with those eyes and God if you  weren't so scared right now, or him, yourself, Mandy, it might be turning you on.

Oh, who the fuck you kiddin? It is.

“You what, Red?” You ask quietly. His eyes flick to your mouth and you bite the side of your bottom lip, feeling exposed in such a new way. You feel like Ian sees you, all of you and its terrifying. 

“I want to take care of you too.”

“You  can't .  You’ll only get yourself killed. You  can't .”

“I  don't care. I  don’t care if  it's dangerous. I know  it's crazy but I give a shit about you. And I feel like no one has in a long time. If not ever.” You feel his hand on your knee and it sends a jolt through your body. No. Not now. This  isn't the time. 

You stay staring at each other for a long time. The only sound in the room from the heavy breathing between you. 

“I don’t want you to get hurt.” You finally admit. 

“I don’t want you to get hurt, either.”

“You got no control over that, Ian.” You finally say his name for the first time and he practically  moans when you do. He licks his lips. You do the same. 

“Neither do you.” You barely hear him say it because the  whooshing in your ears is so loud.  He’s so close.  You’ve never been this close to another man before when you  weren't beating the life out of them.

“Do you want to kiss me?” Ian asks delicately. 

Your chest  seizes and you want to look away. You should make him leave. Tell him to pack his shit and never look back. But your frozen in front of him. Kneeling like some bitch at the  altar of this beautiful man. 

“I’ve never...” You admit and you squeeze your eyes shut at your truth that just flowed so freely from your lips. 

“ That's not what I asked, Mick.”

You finally brave yourself and him and reopen your eyes.  He’s so close. You can feel his breath on your face. You can smell that fucking mint gum in his mouth. You can count his freckles again. You count them, like you did that night, to calm yourself. From saying something else  you’ll regret. You just lick your lips again and breath in and out heavily through your mouth.  He’s doing the same. He looks 1/3 turned on, 1/3 terrified and 1/3 something else you  can't quite put your finger on. Because  you’ve seen someone look at you when they want to fuck you.  You’ve seen someone look at you terrified because they know what their fate is in your hands. But no one has ever looked at you like this. Not even Mandy. 

Ian is looking at you like  you're the most beautiful thing  he’s ever seen. 

And  it's not something  you’ve ever had before. 

Because you're not beautiful.  You’re a killer. A bad man who does  bad things . You lie, steal, cheat.  You’ve broken every rule in the book of life. But in his eyes; those green eyes just staring at you wide and sparkly like  some kind of  Disney character;  you’re none of that. 

You’re just Mickey.

And  you’re not sure  you’ve ever just been that. 

He’s waiting for you to give consent. He knows no matter what  you're the boss. You have the control. But you  can't do it.  You’ll never be able to be the one to do it.  You’re not strong enough. Brave enough. Not for this. Not to feel this. Not for happiness. 

You give him the smallest nod; if he  wasn't so close to  you, you aren't sure  he’d have even be able to see it. 

But when his lips meet yours you know he did. 

You know you are  probably going to end up dead. You know  it's been hanging over your head your entire life. 

But when Ian opens his mouth gradually against yours and just breathes every single cell in your body into his, you figure you might just not give a shit. 

At least not right now. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mickey comes up with a plan. And gets something he wants.

You didn’t have much time to think about it. 

Not the fact that you might get killed. 

You mean the kiss. 

The simple, passionate, almost sweet kiss you and Ian had the other night. 

Neither of you have spoken about it since. He’s still just going about his business, taking care of your Pops and giving you; these looks. You’ve mostly been sitting in the garden the past few days, sometimes with your Pops but mostly by yourself. Thinking. Trying to figure out a plan. A way out of getting yourself killed. A way to keep yourself and your family safe. 

To keep Ian safe. You aren't sure how Ian became a part of this equation so quickly. Ian had only been here a month and you already feel...protective of him. He’s been giving you your space; but staying just the right amount around you so you know he’s there in case you need him. And you do. 

Need him. 

But you can't think about that right now. You have no right to get your dick wet when your days are numbered. 

But maybe that’s why you should be thinking about it. 

Because if you can't find a way out of this...this might be your last chance. 

You have some ideas on what to do. They are risky, probably even more dangerous than just killing Tony and just taking the consequences of what comes next. Killing another boss from another family is one thing, but going against your own boss? Going against Sergei yourself? Betraying him? Lying? 

There is no coming back from that. There is no fast gunshot to the head. Or knife across your throat. That is slow, painful death. Days of torture. Body parts dismembered for your family to find. Or they would just kill Iggy and Mandy right in front of you. Make you watch while you bleed out. 

That’s what traitors get. 

So, this has to be done right. Smart. And quickly. 

The sun is setting perfectly across the lawn and the flowers are starting to close for the night when your Pops grunts next to you. He’s looking at you with wide eyes and you lean sideways in your chair to get closer to him. 

“What’s up, Pops? Need something?” 

“B-B-Be s-smart.” He slurs. You swallow hard. 

“You heard him.” You state matter of factly. 

He grunts. 

“They are gonna kill me either way.” You admit. Your father gives you the slowest of head shakes. “Then what the fuck do I do then, ay? How the fuck do I get out of this? Why did you have to go and fucking die on me? I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I thought you taught me to be smarter than this. To always know when I’m being played. I guess I’m just a dumb fuck like you used to call me when I was younger.” 

Terry reaches out unsteadily and grasps you hand. Hard. “R-rat. St-o-len m-m-oney. T-they know it.” 

You grimace and shake your head. “The fuck you talkin about, Pops? What money?” 

Terry’s eyes widen and grips your hand harder. 

“The money you stole? Was it for Sergei?” 

Your father nods. 

“Whose was it?” 

“I-I-rish.” 

“But you told them the Italians did it. But it was us?” 

“R-rats.” 

You lean back in your chair and remember that last job right before the shit hit the fan with your Pops health wise. You had thought it had gone to shit because your Pops made the mistake. Why the Irish and the Italians were coming after him. You thought your Pops had gone rough and stolen that money on his own. Done his own job. But no. It was for Sergei. Maybe this plan to get the Milkovich’s out of the equation was going longer than you thought. 

You look back at your Pops, his eyes still wide and staring at you. Hand gripping yours so tightly. 

“Everyone is a Rat.” You whisper. He nods. “Even family. Especially family.” His hand grips even tighter. 

“S-smart, M-m-ikhailo. S-how th-e-em w-who th-e-e r-rats a-a-re.” 

You give your Pops a smile. You had always thought your father secretly hated you. And maybe he does. But if there was one thing your father prided himself on, it was business. It was playing fair. It was giving assholes like Sergei exactly what was coming to them. And that’s exactly what you intended to do. 

******** 

“Mikhailo. It's been 3 days. We agree on 48.” Sergei’s voice through the phone sounds stern. Authoritative. If this had been 4 days ago you might have been shitting yourself. 

But not anymore. 

“You taught me to be smart, right? I can't just go in there, guns blazing. I gotta make sure I do it at the right time. Right place. You want me to make a statement, ay? Me showing up to that Ginny’s restaurant and putting a bullet in his head isn't some statement. I gotta get him where it hurts the most. I got a plan. I just need 24 more hours. You’ll be proud.” 

You hear Sergei take a sip of his known Scotch on the other end of the line. “Proud, eh? Okay. 24 more hours. If it's not done, I will know you aren't cut out for this. You will have disgraced this family and your father's name. I don’t like waiting. I don’t wait for anything, Mikhailo. Do you understand me?” 

“I do, boss. I promise. After its done you will have not any doubt where my loyalties lie.” You smirk. Oh, he has no fucking idea. 

“Do not disappoint me.” The line goes dead and you close your eyes and lower the phone away from your face. You held steady. Firm. Like your father taught you. He made you into one of the best liars in Chicago. You could fool anyone. 

You turn to find Ian just a few feet away from you; where he’s been for days now; staring at you with that worried look in his eyes. 

Yeah. You could lie to anyone. 

But not yourself. 

And not to him. 

********* 

Mandy is on the couch in the media room later that night. She's scrolling through her phone with an old 80’s movie playing on the movie screen while she shovels popcorn into her mouth. 

Her life is so simple and you envy her sometimes. You wonder what will happen to her if the plan goes south. Will they kill her? Will she be smart enough to run once she hears? And if she does will, she have enough to live on? 

She doesn’t even realize in your in the room until you sit next to her on the couch. She eyes you questionably. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Why’s something have to be wrong?” You sit back on the couch and frown at the 80’s brat pack on the screen. 

“Because you're like in here. Seeking me out. At 9pm at night. Which means Dad’s dead or you killed someone.” She puts her phone on her lap and turns her body towards you. 

“None of those things.” You mumble and rub your hands on your jeaned legs. 

“Then what?” 

You take a deep breath. “There’s money in my closet. Almost $100,000. What do you have in your accounts?” 

“What...I don’t know. Like 20?” 

You breathe out. “Okay, well if anything happens you take that money and split, ok? Go as far as you can. Go to another country. I don’t give a fuck. But you take that money and never look back.” You can't look at her. She’s burning a hole in the side of your face but you can't bring yourself to look at her. 

“What do you mean ‘if something happens?’” You don’t answer her. “Mick? What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“I found out some shit. About...the family. About Sergei and shit. They have plans. To get me out of the family now that Pops is...you know. He never had any intention of letting me take over. He wants me gone.” 

Mandy lets out a shuddering breath. “Okay, well. What are you gonna do?” 

“I got a plan. But it's risky. And it might not work. And if it doesn’t, if it goes south, you gotta promise me you will run. Because you’ll be next and you know it.” 

“What about Iggy?” 

“Gave him the same speech.” 

“You give him a 100K too?” 

You finally turn and look at your twin. “Nah. Strictly for twins.” 

She gives you a small smile. “And what happens if your plan works? We gonna be ok? Anyone else gonna come after us?” 

“I doubt it.” 

She nods and turns back to the Rom Com on the screen. It's quiet for a while. 

“You gonna tell me the plan?” She finally asks. 

“You’ll know everything you need to know when the time comes. If it works, you’ll know. If it doesn’t, you’ll know too.” 

She reaches for the remote and shuts off the movie. The only lights in the room are from the far back of the room now. “You’ve always taken care of me. Taken care of everything. Dad was never much of a father to us. But you...you were everything.” She pauses. “Who is taking care of you, Mick?” 

It’s a valid question. And up until this point the answer would have been simple. 

Yourself. You’ve been taking care of yourself. 

But lately you’ve been feeling there might be someone else. Someone who wants to take care of you, be there for you. Even though they know what you are. What you’ve done. Somehow that someone has seen through all the layers of anger, and violence and had seen that underneath it you were still just a kid trying to make your father proud of you. 

“Someone.” You finally smile at her. “I found someone.” 

There are tears in her eyes. She knows this might be the last conversation she ever has with you. You lean into her and wrap your arm around her shoulder and let her cry a few tears on your shoulder. It's always been the two of you. But you know she will listen to you. She always has. 

“Then you should go be with them.” She whispers. 

You pull back, eyes wide. She knows. You huff out a laugh. Of course, she knows. She always saw right through you too. 

You nod and let go of her as you stand. She gives your hand one final squeeze. It says a lot. 

Be careful. I love you. 

****** 

You’ve been standing outside his bedroom door for almost 20 minutes. You’ve been going over different conversations with him in your head. You want to tell him to run. Now. That you’d figure out your Pops. But he needed to be safe. 

You want to tell him the goddamn truth. Your whole plan. You want to give him money too to help him get away. Because no matter what happens, he might never be safe. 

But most of all, you want to crawl into his bed and touch him. Kiss him. Feel him. Let yourself feel something other than hatred and fear for once. 

You knock softly and you hear shuffling of sheets and less than 30 seconds later the door is pulled open and there he is. Bare chest and low hung sweatpants. The V at the end of his abs are prominent and your mouth literally waters. You can't even look at his face. You’re just staring at his body. 

And you don’t even care. 

“Mick...” The whisper of your name knocks you out of your trance. You lock eyes with him and he gives you a warm smirk. “What’s up?” 

“Uh, wanted to talk to you, man.” 

He nods and opens the door wider to let you inside. He clicks the door closed. His bedroom is decent size. Full bed with a dresser and a nice size closet. It's not even half the size of your room but he’s made himself at home with his clothes and personal affects. Even a laptop that’s propped open on the bed. 

“Am I bothering you?” You ask. You have your back to him. But after the words leave your mouth his bare chest is against your back and you can feel his breath on your neck. You shudder. 

“No,” he whispers. You groan. You don’t care. You want him. And he knows it. 

You feel his fingertips run gently up your biceps and even though you are fully closed, you suddenly feel so exposed. 

“We gotta talk, man.” You moan out and almost instantly he steps back and your suddenly cold. You turn and he’s just a few feet away from you, giving you space. You don’t know how he does it. How he always seems to know exactly what you need even when you aren't sure what you need. 

“Okay.” He motions for you to sit down. And you do. You choose the chair by the window. 

“Look, I wanna tell you everything. I want to trust you...fuck I feel like I do even thought I shouldn’t. But...I’m about to...” You sigh unable to form your thoughts. 

“Hey.” He kneels down in front of you and his hands are like hot brands on your knees. “You can tell me anything. I’m not wired or a rat. I’m not working for the fucking cops. I’m here for your father. And... now you. So, you can tell me as much or as little as you're comfortable with.” 

You swallow and close your eyes. “I got a plan. For Sergei. But there's a good chance it could go south. And if it does...” You open your eyes and stare into green pools of worry. “You gotta run. Don’t worry about Pops. If I’m dead and Mandy’s gone...they will just come and put a bullet in his head. And maybe that's better. It's better than the suffering he’s going through now.” 

“Mick...dead...I...” 

“I already deposited 25K into your account. I got it off Mandy. She had all your personal info. You take that money and you fucking take off. Out of Chicago. Go somewhere far. New York. Cali. Fuck man, South Dakota. I don’t care. You go, start over. Be a nurse someplace else. Because once I'm dead, they will come here. Come for Mandy, Pops. You. Anyone in this fucking house. They will kill everyone and burn this house to the ground.” 

Ian grabs your hands. “Then let's go now. We can even take your father. You obviously have enough money. Let's just go. Start over somewhere together. With Mandy, I don’t care. You don’t need to do this.” 

“You don’t understand. This is...all I know. I gotta finish this. You wouldn’t understand. Yeah, I can't trust these mother fuckers but it's...family. I know it sounds nuts but I’ve known these men my whole life. And if I run, I’m disgracing my name. My father’s name. It's all I have.” You choke on the last words. 

“No,” Ian reaches up and strokes your cheek. “It's not all you have. You have me.” 

“All the more reason for you to run. You probably should just go now. They will use anything and everything that I care about against me.” 

And then the fucker smiles. “You care about me, huh?” 

“Oh, fuck you.” But you smile. How can you not when he’s looking at you like that? 

He nods, and you can tell the wheels in his head are turning. He’s thinking; mulling over your words in his head. “Okay. I promise to run. On one condition.” 

You quirk an eye brow at him. 

“Stay with me tonight. If this could possibly be the last time I ever this close to you, I don’t want to waste it. I want you to be in my bed. I want to touch you. Kiss you.” He leans up and you feel his lips ghost against yours. “Fuck you.” 

Your body vibrates under his presence. It's still dangerous. Everything about him...this...is dangerous. For so many reasons. But you don’t fucking care. Not when his body is this close to yours. And he’s right. This might be the last time you see him. The last time to able to be happy. To be touched. To finally get something you want. Crave. Need. 

You answer his request by slamming your mouth into his. It's all tongue and your hands are wrapped around the back of his head and he's moaning into your mouth and fuck his tongue tastes like mint. 

He grabs you under your arms and hauls you up into his body. He’s taller than you; and for a second you hate it but then he's pushing you back toward the bed and then just as suddenly you don’t. 

Your knees hit the side of the bed and you sit heavily onto it with a huff. He’s leering down at you. And fuck it. Last night on earth, right? You're going for it. All the fear you’ve had your entire life of being exposed, of people knowing that men are what you crave? Its outside that closed bedroom door, not in here, right now with Ian. In here it's just the two of you. And you want him. And he wants you. 

And maybe that’s worth dying for. 

You run your tattooed hand up his stomach, feeling his muscles tense under your touch. He moans and throws his head back eyes closed. Your cock stirs in your jeans; you did that to him. You’re making him feel that. You lean forward and lick up his abs and he grips the back of your hair tightly. You nip and suck and lick at his exposed skin and he just huffs and moans above you. He reaches down your neck and starts to gather the material from your t-shirt up your back. 

“You need less clothes. Now.” 

The dominance in his voice is everything you didn’t know you craved in a lover. You're so used to being in charge. So used to being the hard one. But now? Fuck if you don’t want Ian to call every shot tonight. 

Tonight, you’re his. 

You pull back and stand, shedding your shirt quickly. He watches you with hooded eyes as you unbuckle your belt, then undo the button of your jeans and slide them down your wobbly legs along with your boxers. You kick them somewhere in his room and his eyes roam over your naked skin like an animal. Your cock is hard and straight up against your stomach and before you can make some snarky remark, he lowers his sweats and he’s got nothing underneath them and fuck that is sexy. 

His cock is...enormous. You’ve watched porn. You’re no size queen, a cock is a cock, but Ian’s....fuck. Its long and wide...and perfectly pink at the tip. Its already leaking and all you want to know is what he tastes like. 

You’re on your knees before you can mentally talk yourself out of it and you wrap your lips around the tip of his cock. You know there is no way you can get this whole thing in your mouth. But you are definitely going to give it all you got. Last night, remember? 

The sound that erupts out of Ian makes your cock jerk against your stomach when you swirl your tongue around him. And you knew it. He tastes amazing. He’s running his fingers through your hair and whispering your name over and over. You work his cock with your mouth and hand like it’s the last meal you are ever going to have. Maybe it is. And fuck it tastes so fucking good. 

He grabs your hair and yanks you back off his cock. Your mouth is slobbery and wet, just like his cock and you look up at him to see his chest flushed and heaving. His eyes are a dark green. You groan. 

“I’m not coming until I’m balls deep inside your ass.” 

Sweet, gentle Ian is gone. Needy, wanton, dominant Ian is standing in front of you. And its everything you never knew you needed. 

You stand, stumbling a bit and crawl onto the bed. You flop down onto the soft mattress and spread your legs, giving Ian the silent invitation that you’re his to whatever he wants to. 

He’s on you in seconds, devouring your mouth and running his soft hands on every inch of your skin. His touches are gentle but firm as his fingers run from the side of your face, down your neck, over your biceps and then onto your chest; pausing to pay special attention to your nipples by tweaking them in between his fingers. It isn't something you knew you really liked until he did it. Your body involuntarily arches off the bed at the assault and he smiles into your mouth. 

“Mmmm. I can't wait to find out everything that makes you do that.” He moves his mouth to your neck, this spot right behind your ear and you're almost embarrassed at the sound you make. 

“Fuck, Ian.” 

He continues his with the licking and sucking and he’s rubbing is impressive cock against yours and you feel like your gonna blow and he hasn’t even been inside you. 

“You can fuck me if you want. I shouldn’t have assumed you’d bottom for me.” He whispers, pulling back to look at you. He’s...fuck. Perfect. 

“I’ve never...” You close your eyes and sigh. Fuck. 

“Ever?” 

“No, I mean,” you open your eyes. “I’ve fucked dudes. But never...been fucked.” 

He tilts his head and looks down at you as he caresses your cheek. “What do you want, Mickey? I’ll give you anything you want.” 

You want to tell him he already has. He’s given you someone to be yourself around. Someone to get your guard down. Someone to...maybe love. 

“I want you inside me.” You whisper. He smiles and it lights up the whole fucking room. 

His mouth is back on yours and now his hands and moving under your thighs and he reaches for a pillow on the other side of the bed. You lift your hips when he slides it under you. He works his mouth down your body; each pec, each nipple, the softness of your stomach; burying his nose into the hairs above your cock. It hits him in the chin and face but he doesn’t care. He’s moaning and whispering praises of how beautiful you are. It still causes you to tense; because you aren't. But you let him think it if he wants. 

When he finally gets between your legs, he maneuvers you so their resting over his shoulders. You think he’s going to put his mouth on your cock but instead he lifts your hips and trails his tongue in-between his ass and over your hole. Your whole-body spams and a loan groan escapes your throat. Holy fuck. That’s a new feeling. 

He looks up at you, a cocky grin on his face. “First time for that, too?” All you can do is nod. “Mmm. Good.” He goes in again, harder now, licking around your rim swirls and small sucks. You arch and writhe under his mouth but he keeps you against the mattress with his large hands on your hips. The sounds in the room are downright filthy and you feel like this should be gross, but the moans that are coming from him, making your hole vibrate with him, you feel like this is the last thing Ian finds to be gross. He brings you to the edge twice, thinking you might cum just from his tongue in your ass, when he suddenly stops and takes your cock into his mouth before you can even blink. 

Jesus fuck, everything Ian does is amazing. Maybe you're just horny. Maybe it's just been too long since someone has touched you, man or woman. Or maybe it's just him. 

No, it's just him. You know it. 

He sucks your cock like he's starving. He hollows his cheeks and swallows when you hit the back of his throat. It's the best head you’ve ever had and you’ve been blown by professionals. But Ian is a professional in his own right. And getting head by a man is nothing like getting one from a hooker. Ian knows exactly what to do because he knows what feels good to him. And it's perfect. 

He pulls off your dick with a loud pop. You look down at him; his lips red and swollen and sweat forming on his forehead making his red hair stick to it. God, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anything more beautiful. 

“You want me to prep you?” 

You swallow. “I... uh...did it in the shower earlier.” You're embarrassed by admitting it but his eyes glaze over and he crawls up your body in an animal like way. 

“You knew you were going to get fucked, didn’t you, Mick?” He kisses you, all tongue and barely any lips and you chase after his tongue when he pulls away. “I’ve wanted this from the second I saw you. Your eyes, fuck. So blue. And this dark hair against your skin.” He runs his fingertip over your cheek. And the way you walk into a room. With your thighs and swagger. You're the sexiest man I've ever seen. I knew I had to have you.” 

“You have me.” The words escape before you can stop them. You thrust up into his body. “I’m yours, Ian.” 

He growls and throws an arm over the bed to pull at the drawer on the table beside it. He fumbles until he finds the bottle he is looking for and you hear the click of the lid. This is it. You’re going to get fucked. 

He leans back off your body and slicks up the monster between his legs. You lick your lips involuntarily. 

“Like this?” He asks. He means on your back. Not if you like what he's doing. Because he knows you do. You nod. You need to see him. You want to remember his face. Every look of pleasure he gives you. 

He leans down over you and your legs wrap around him. He smiles into your mouth before he kisses you. Its slow and deep and you sink into the bed underneath you. You feel his slicked cock against your hole and you push yourself against it. He moans and the tip enters you achingly slow. He’s being careful with you. Tender. And it's nothing you deserve. 

It takes a while until he is fully inside you. He goes inch by inch, and there's a lot of inches, and pauses each time to make sure you're okay. To adjust. And it hurts. You're so full and you aren't sure he's going to fit inside you. Every time he pushes forward it burns and you know there's a look of discomfort your face. So, he takes his time. 

When he’s fully inside you he sighs heavily and buries his face against your neck. 

“Christ, Mick. You’re so fucking tight.” 

“Told you I’ve never been fucked.” You moan out. God, he's so fucking big. 

“Do you understand how hot that is for me? That I’m the only one who has ever been inside you? That my cock gets to fill you up? That I get to mark you? So, you know I’ve been inside you?” 

His words make your cock jump between you and he lets out a growl before pulling out almost all the way and slamming back into you. And fuck if that doesn't feel good. 

He starts a rhythm. Pulling out and pushing in as your ankles dig into his ass, pushing him in further with every thrust. Fuck he feels amazing. He’s amazing. And he wants you. Mickey Milkovich. Not the mafia boss. Not the murderer. Not the kid who grew up in a world of violence. He wants the Mickey who is scared all the fucking time. The Mickey that’s been in the closet his entire life. The Mickey that wishes sometimes he could just have a normal life. And Ian is the only person you think maybe could give you that. Maybe you should just run. Pack it all up right now and leave. 

But you know you can't. And Ian understands you can't. And that means more to you than anything. 

He gets you. More than Mandy. Or your Pops. Or anyone in your entire life. 

You reach up and take his face in your hands and look up at him. You give him everything in that look. You give him all your pain. All your secrets. All the things you’ve never said out loud. 

He smiles down at you and fucks so hard into you, you practically scream. You don’t care if Mandy hears you. Or your Pops. Who really gives a fuck anymore? 

And so, Ian fucks you. He holds the headboard above your head and lifts your hips off the bed as his cock hits that spot inside you that makes you black out almost every time. There's sweat and saliva exchanged between you and when his rubs his abs aggressively over your leaking cock you jolt and keen and somehow you know you’re gonna come without him even touching you. He looks down between you at your angry and wet cock and licks his lips. 

“You gotta cum, Mick. I don’t know how much longer till I blow.” His voice is desperate. You feel like you’ve been fucking for hours. And maybe it has been. You’ll never know. You’ve lost track of time. 

You nod and bring your hand up to his face. He looks at you, searching your eyes. 

“Choke me.” You whisper. His eyes darken and he lets go of the headboard and presses against you, holding his body up with the other arm. His long fingers wrap around your throat with just the right amount and pressure and you wonder if he's done this before to someone else. Or maybe, somehow, your bodies are just so in sync he just knows what you need. You will yourself to believe it’s the latter. 

He chokes you and fucks you and you feel your orgasm build it seconds. He senses it because your body tenses and your eyes squeeze shut and he kisses your mouth as you gasp for air. 

“Cum, Mick. Let go. Let me see you.” 

And you do. It like white hot electricity through your body and you’ve had many orgasms in your life but this one makes you feel like you're floating above your body. Your toes curl. Your body tenses so much it aches. And just when you think it can't get any better, that nothing could ever feel as good as this, Ian unloads inside you. And you feel it. You feel his cock jerk and its warm and wet and your cock jerks again; another few drops leaking out of you. When you finally come to; when Ian’s hand is not on your throat anymore and you try to regain your normal breathing; you open your eyes to find him looking down between you. He’s still inside you; and you have to touch his cheek to bring his eyes up to yours. 

And Ian looks...wrecked. 

“You...came without....” 

“I know.” 

“You came twice...I saw...” 

“I know.” 

And then Ian grins. Widely. “That’s the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.” 

You laugh, because fuck it, you can and you want to and you feel like your floating. 

He slumps against you and he chuckles and you wrap your arms around him. You stay like that for a while. Planting lazy kisses on each other’s necks and shoulders. When he finally has to pull out you wince at the loss and feel the wetness and stickiness at your hole. Fuck, that’s hot. 

He rolls over next to you and throws his arm over his face. 

“Jesus Christ.” Ian moans. 

“Yeah.” Is all you can muster up to say. 

“Hey.” 

You roll your head too look at him. His hair is wet and sticking up everywhere and there's a calmness in his eyes. 

“Don't...don't get killed, okay? Just...don't.” 

You swallow. You can't promise him that. You can't promise him anything. 

“I don’t want you to leave me.” He admits, his voice cracking. You lean over and kiss him. Slow and deep, trying to put into the kiss everything you can't say. You hope he feels it, hopes he gets it. 

Because you don’t want to leave him either.


End file.
